


Cut A Ribbon

by Bouzingo



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, College, Genderqueer Tony Stark, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Parent(s), Other, Young Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 05:43:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4694216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bouzingo/pseuds/Bouzingo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The good people in Tony's life outnumber the bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cut A Ribbon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Propriety_is_not_a_priority](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Propriety_is_not_a_priority/gifts).



Tony is usually a chatty and active child, and Peggy enjoys their days out. But that morning, he is quiet and unenthusiastic.

“Tony, are you feeling all right?” she asks. They’re set to go to the New York Hall of Science, but Tony’s dragging his feet and that usually means he wants to talk.

“I’m okay,” he says. Unconvinced, Peggy raises an eyebrow. He sighs and stares down at his feet. “I don’t want to go to boarding school. It’s far away and the uniform is _pants._ ”

“Oh dear,” Peggy says. She hadn’t thought about how his preference for brightly coloured clothes and the occasional tutu would suffer at his new school.

“I’m all wrong,” Tony mutters. “Even my dad thinks so.”

“Your father is a giant dolt,” Peggy promises, and kneels so she’s at his level. “But you know what? I know you’ll outgrow that school before you outgrow your favourite dress, dear, and when you’re with me you can wear whatever you like.”

“Even the shoes?” Tony asks hopefully. He covets Peggy’s black patent shoes, though his little feet slip and slide in them.

“With a good deal of newspaper, but even the shoes,” Peggy promises.

* * *

 

With the right smoky eye and the hair styling, Tony thinks he could pass for Louise Brooks. He checks out his profile from all possible angles and then takes a picture with a new gadget of his he likes to call a Smartphone.

“Hey Rhodey,” he says, brandishing the resulting picture on his screen under his roommate’s nose. “What do you think? 1920s femme fatale mystique?”

“I think that’s an awful lot of makeup for a teenager who’s going to a big kids’ party,” Rhodey says, looking up with only token irritation. “And I think I’m a rocket scientist, not an aesthetician.”

“You’re no fun,” Tony says. “Why aren’t you coming?”

“I’ve got schoolwork,” Rhodey says. “Some of us have to work for that 4.0 GPA. It’s also Tuesday night, Tony, Jesus.”

Tony pouts. Pouting doesn’t work on Rhodey. Neither does draping over his back like a fur stole. Tony goes back to his room to figure out what he’s going to wear.

“Don’t stay out too late,” Rhodey mutters to the circuit board he’s rejiggering. “If someone pours you a drink, don’t take it. And I don’t care that you have your license now, you can’t drive intoxicated. Call a cab.”

“I know the drill,” Tony says.

“Yeah, okay,” Rhodey says. “Have fun.”

* * *

 

Tony wishes Rhodey were here, and he wishes he’d had the guts or patience to have worn something a bit more femme. He nurses a beer, taps his black patent shoes, and tries not to look at the cute redheaded girl who he’s seen in his advanced biochem class.

“You’re the Stark kid, right?” someone – the host? – asks. Tony nods, looking up at the flannel and band shirt and resolutely missing eye contact.

“That’s right,” he says.

“Bit young for that beer, aren’t you?”

“I’m a bit young for a university degree,” Tony retorts.

“Fair enough!” the host laughs, and holds out a hand for Tony to shake. “My name’s Jason. Nice shoes, by the way.”

Tony looks down at the worn black patent shoes, so hard won from Peggy Carter, and suddenly feels embarrassed. Jason leaves him after a little more small talk, and Tony gets another beer. He’s starting to feel the effects a little; mostly he gets warmer and a little happier. Then he switches to something stronger and then he’s chattier.

“I don’t know, I’ve never tried this before,” Tony says, looking at the empty bottle of something that was full only a little bit before. “It’s good though! I want to buy some. Or make some. Have you ever made alcohol? Fun stuff, but no flavour, at least until you…”

The rest of the evening is a blur, and eventually Tony finds himself back at his apartment and feeling sicker than he ever has.

“Hey,” Rhodey says, safely at the bathroom’s doorframe. “So you look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Tony says, and retches again. “I _hate_ parties. Don’t let me go to any more.”

“I don’t _let_ you do anything,” Rhodey says. “Are you okay now? Can I go to bed?”

“Yeah,” Tony says.

Tony wishes he knew how to classify his gender like he knows how to classify practically anything else. But nothing seems right, because things change day to day. And he has nobody to talk to, at least not in his school town. Aunt Peggy is too far away to help him through, and he hasn’t opened up to Rhodey about his gender, not properly.

On the other hand, he can wear whatever he damn well pleases. Long shawls and short skirts, and Aunt Peggy’s black patent shoes. Makeup, even just a little in the morning before an early lecture, does miracles when he’s trying to settle himself. Long hair didn’t work for him as well as he thought it would, but short hair can be gelled and styled and dyed sometimes. People like to play with short hair, tease it and pull it. He likes that too.

“Is there something I should know about?” Rhodey asks, really quiet one night. They’re watching _Star Wars,_ Rhodey’s standard way to unwind after mountains of school work, and this segue honestly seems out of the blue.

“No?” Tony says.

“I was just wondering if I’ve been misgendering you this whole time,” Rhodey says.

“Uh, I definitely would have told you by now if you were,” Tony says. “It’s been like three months, man. My gender is… probably wrapped up in the mysteries of time and space, but you’ve always been careful. More careful than most.”

“I should have asked you sooner,” Rhodey says. Tony shrugs.

“It’s good, I don’t know what I would have told you if you’d asked me earlier,” he says. “Thanks for asking. Ooooh favourite scene!”

He throws some popcorn at Rhodey and turns up the volume.

He doesn’t know why he avoids the conversations that are necessary for others to understand. But some part of him goes back to Howard, Howard’s disappointment when he tried to explain. And he can’t deal with Rhodey being disappointed in him like his father.

* * *

 

He wakes up and he’s still drunk. He blinks blearily, rubbing his eyes, and his hand comes away covered in glitter and kohl. To his side there’s a sleeping guy named Jason, and on his other side is a table with various kinds of liquor.

“Hey,” he says, nudging Jason’s shoulder. “You want something to drink?”

Jason groans and rolls over, one bloodshot eye cracked open.

“Fuck you, no,” he mutters. “I need to sleep.”

“Suit yourself,” Tony says, stumbles to the automated coffeemaker that’s already made a fresh cup of the best coffee. He dumps a shot of liquor into the coffee, and then takes a few sips before putting another shot.

“Heyyyy,” he says to Rhodey, who’s reading a textbook over his sugary cereal. “Good morning. What’s happening, Rocky Rhodes?”

“You’re still drunk?” Rhodey says, looking up with some concern. “Don’t you have finals soon?”

“I got grief leave or whatever,” Tony shrugs. “And there’s still plenty of time before I have to do anything like studying. Did you see I fixed your coffee maker?”

“I saw that you all but replaced it.”

“Makes coffee just the way you like it,” Tony says. “You’re welcome.”

“And is that guy still here? Jay? Jerry?”

“Jason,” Tony says. “Yeah. Needs his rest. I think he drank more than I did.”

“Have some water,” Rhodey says while Tony shuffles to the fridge to check on their supplies. “Seriously. And something to eat that’s not fried.”

“I know I need to eat,” Tony says. “Worry about yourself.”

“Okay,” Rhodey says. “I have to go. If there’s mail, do you think you could get it?”

“I think I could,” Tony says. “I have a dress coming in. Black with plenty of back. Just the way Howard would have wanted.”

Rhodey looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t.

“I’ll be late coming in tonight. Try to clean up,” he says instead.

“I’ll try,” Tony grins, just as Jason walks in wearing last night’s clothes. “Good morning!”

“Sure,” Jason says. The sweeping look he gives Tony’s hair, his face still covered in makeup, the stupid party dress he thought he looked good in, makes him reach for another drink. “I’m going now. I would appreciate it if this didn’t make the tabloids.”

“You sure? I’m working up to making breakfast,” Tony says, feels that dreaded disappointment curl up in his psyche.

“No, I gotta go,” Jason says. “This was a one-time thing, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Okay.”

And he’s gone. Tony shrugs, and sits down with his new drink. Rhodey pulls on his coat.

“You have my number if you need to call,” he says.

“Okay,” Tony says. “Thanks.”

* * *

 

“I’ve picked out a few things that I thought might be appropriate for the occasion,” Pepper says. It’s been two months since the Incident and Tony still feels ill with betrayal and disappointment, and on top of that he has what he has positively identified as dysphoria; a surplus of shrapnel in the chest will do that to a person.

The dresses are too lowcut, they all showcase the scars and the grotesque metal cylinder in his chest, but the suits feel restrictive in a most unpleasant way that brings Tony back to boarding school. He shakes his head at Pepper.

“I don’t need to go,” he says. “We could ask Rhodey to cut the ribbon. Everyone likes Rhodey. Or you could do it, you’re great at cutting ribbons.”

“Tony, it’s your _mother’s charity…_ ”

“I know what it is, I know why it’s important, I just,” Tony sighs, and sits down. “I don’t think I can, Pepper.”

“Why don’t you try this one,” Pepper says, pulling a tasteful purple dress from the rack. “We’ll pair it with a shawl or a scarf. The Balenciaga one you like so much.”

“Which one?”

“The Balenciaga.”

“I _really_ like Balenciaga,” Tony says, and sighs. “Can I just go in the suit? I never feel shitty in the suit.”

“You can’t just go in the suit,” Pepper says.

“The purple one is good, then,” Tony says. “With the scarf with all the little anchors.”

“Little anchors, okay,” Pepper says, and catches Tony with a quick kiss. “You’ll look good, okay?”

“Okay,” Tony says, and manages to smile.


End file.
